Apeiron
by Swythangel
Summary: The bard Trowa searches for the ultimate truth and seeks to find it in the words of a Prince who has been cursed to sleep for a hundred years. A retelling of Sleeping Beauty with a twist. 3+4, 1x4
1. Default Chapter

Email: swythangel@hotmail.com   
Title: **Apeiron**   
Rating: PG (for shounen ai content)   
Spoilers: None on Gundam Wing and you know Sleeping Beauty don't you?   
Warnings: Strong Language, Slash, Fantasy AU   
Pairings: 1x4, 3+4 

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is owned by Bandai and a passel of other people I never bothered to find out about. It just depresses me to see all those bishies as someone else's property. Stronger than Time is owned by Patricia Wrede. 

This is an adaptation of a retelling of Sleeping Beauty. I loved it so much that I wanted to do something like it. ^^ Patricia Wrede writes a good tale. I only hope this will turn out as nice as hers did. I love philosophical titles if you guys have noticed? ^^ Prolly because I've never been that good with philosophy and am trying to make up for it. 

See the pairing? Its not what you think and it is what you think. ^^ Go figure. 

**Apeiron**   
**Prologue**

The castle turrets rose above the briars and brushes that choked the surrounding area, sparkling a ruddy white in the fading light of the sunset. It looked fragile and beautiful, slender towers with intricate designs and gold lining. A place fit for princesses and princes to dwell in and for once, as Trowa looked upon it, he forgot the dangers lurking just below the fanciful towers and knew that the old tales were true. 

Only for a moment though, because he knew what the shadows covered, what the sun even at its most powerful could not defeat. Evil converged on the castle grounds, covered it with malignant energy that manifested in the twisted mass of thorns that writhed and rasped against each other like a living mass, ready to pierce any interloper that came within their range. 

Most people avoided the castle altogether, taking out-of-the way paths to their destination rather than fall under the castle's shadow. But Trowa was not most people. 

Trowa was a bard. Which by itself should explain away his eccentricities. Everyone knew how bards would dare the most dangerous task for the epic song they were making. 

Songs…bards were more than songs. They searched naught only for subjects for their songs but most importantly for truth. Of which the villeins never listened to of course. Anyone who risked their lives for something as simple as finding out something was, to their opinion, daft. Filling one's stomach, one's hearth and home mattered more to them than something as high faluting as the truth. 

Trowa was more intense than any other bard in his search. Obsessive, his colleagues called him as they saw the young bard poke his nose into everything, in his search for truth, alienating everyone who might stand in his way. 

Urstuff, Trowa preferred to call it…the fundamental substance of the universe. That was what he was seeking. He believed that in doing so he would find the answer to everything. And that mattered more to him than any other. 

For now his search led him here…to this castle where rumor has it that a boy, a prince, still lies sleeping after over a hundred years, waiting for someone to break the curse. 

Twas said that the Prince had been a beauty, one to rival princesses in his fragility and comeliness. But that was not what Trowa was interested in, what he was interested in was the fact that the Prince had been gifted with the power of discernment, the ability to look into the hearts of people and give them the answer that their hearts wanted. 

_/If I could reach him, could he tell me the answer I crave and finally set this heart at ease?/_

Trowa looked straight at the glistening central tower, where legend has it the Prince slept, and whispered almost to himself: "Can you see what it is I want?" 

TBC ^__~ Comments onegai?   
Like it? Lump it? I can still stop you know.   
  
  



	2. Seeming Things

Author: Swythangel   
Email: swythangel@hotmail.com   
Title: Apeiron   
Rating: PG (for shounen ai content)   
Spoilers: None on Gundam Wing   
Warnings: Strong Language, Slash, Fantasy AU   
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is owned by Bandai and a passel of other people I never bothered to find out about. It just depresses me to see all those bishies as someone else's property. Stronger than Time is owned by Patricia Wrede. 

Okay first part out. Thanks for the nice reviews! ^^ Er the language is a bit muddled since I put accents on the villagers. Hope you gyys don't get confused. 

**Apeiron**   
**Part 1**

_::…Or will you sleep until the end_   
_No choice on what life you'd want to lead?_   
_Full of innocence and bright dreams_   
_That will never be fulfilled.::_

The last notes of the song hung in the stillness, leaving a heavy air of sadness in the room. Not one dry eye was left inside the tavern. 

The song was one that had oft been repeated thereabouts, especially since The Prancing Unicorn was the nearest tavern within the vicinity of the cursed Castle. It was normal to hear songs that told of the Prince who had been cursed to sleep for eternity. 

But it had never brought tears to the taverngoers' eyes before. 

Somehow the song took on a life of its own this night, coming alive with each note that Trowa sang. And the villagers not only heard but *felt* how it must have been for such a young boy to be a victim of such a fell curse. 

"Bouya!" One of the tavern's patrons shouted at Trowa as he threw a silver into Trowa's hat, "Oi have been comin 'ere for more years than I can count --" 

"You'se got that roight, Branbur, you'se an institution already youself." Someone interjected. Racuous laughter followed this pronouncement. 

"Shut up, stupid and let's Oi finish." The fellow known as Branbur said and turned back to Trowa. "As Oi was sayin' 'afore these lowlifes interrupted me, Oi've heard the song more times that Oi have wanted but this is the first time Oi've ever been moved. You've got talent, boy." 

Various shouts of assent followed. 

"Thank you." Trowa said quietly as he picked up the various coppers scattered near his feet. 

"Shouldn't be a-wasting it on backwater villages such as these." Branbur said coming closer as he watched the strange boy pack his instrument into its case with loving care. "You should be in a noble's court or sumthin'. Oi may not know much but yo' talent would be approaching Master Bard class, that Oi knows. What's the likes of you a-doing here?" 

Trowa stopped in what he was doing and turned, surprise in emerald eyes. "How do you know that?" 

Branbur smirked. "Oi used to be a mercenary for hire. Oi've seen your kind afore. And if you don't mind me a-saying so, that." He pointed to the golden insignia that barely peeked out of the velvet cloth wrapped around Trowa's flute. "is a dead give-away," 

Trowa immediately covered the insignia and closed his instrument case, a wary look entering his eyes as he looked at Branbur. 

"Don't be a-frightened, boy. Oi'se not going to tell them. You've obviously got a reason ta conceal what you are an Oi respects that. Let me buy you a mug of ale." 

Trowa nodded and followed the large old man to the table the ex-soldier had been occupying before he had walked over to talk to Trowa and sat down facing the man. 

"Oi, Rosette! Ale for me an my friend here." Branbur bellowed out and almost immediately the barmaid plunked down two tankards in front of them. 

"How come you're never this attentive when Oi'se alone?" Branbur frowned at the buxom barmaid who was grinning saucily at Trowa, almost pushing her breasts into his face. 

"You come in clean shaven and as pretty as this here gentleman does, Branbur and Oi would." Rosette said, smothering Trowa with her ample bosom. 

Branbur laughed heartily. "Get off the poor kid, Rosette, he obviously dun want yur attention." 

Trowa sighed in relief as the barmaid got off him and drank deeply from the tankard. 

"If Oi asked you what it is you came here for, would you tell me?" The question came quickly. 

/No use hiding it./ 

"To search for truth." 

"Foinding truth in such a backwater place? You won't foind it here Oi assure you." 

"I was hoping *he* would know." Emerald green eyes turned to look out the window, out where the castle stood in the waning light of sunset. 

"Another one…" Branbur said, shaking his head at Trowa. All of a sudden he grabbed Trowa's hand and looked him straight in the eye. "Didna your Bard studies teach you about the men who've died there? Those briars are full of their bones. Didna go adding yours to the collection." 

"Will you tell me what happened to them? Tell me something about the castle." 

Even before Trowa finished speaking, Branbur shook his head. "Ain't no man in this village who will, boy. Leave the cursed place to its own." 

"I am sorry but I can't oblige you." /I need this./ 

"Then all Oi can say is good luck and may the Gods rest your soul." 

*** 

Branbur's words proved true. All of the men in the tavern all flinched back from Trowa as if he was crazy and nary a single one offered any information. He sighed as he went out of the boisterous tavern and into the quiet cold night, towards his rented rooms. 

Trowa was preoccupied with his own thoughts as he transversed the quiet streets of Raberba Village, too preoccupied that he didn't notice a shadow following him until it was almost upon him. Unfortunately for whoever it was behind him, Trowa was not unused to defending himself. 

He flipped backwards into the air, landing just behind the stranger in the shadows with a knife in his hand. 

"Identify yourself." Trowa told the stranger. And the cloaked form turned slowly to face him, revealing cerulean eyes set in a face as youthful as Trowa's own. 

"I am a traveler, much like you are, Bard." The man, no boy, for he was as old as Trowa was, said softly, in a voice so tired that it was almost a bone deep ache. And Trowa doubted his eyes, surely a voice that could contain such deep weariness could not belong to someone so young. 

But it did. As the stranger stepped into the lighted part of the street, Trowa saw a young man shorter than he was with the blue eyes that he had noticed before and unruly chestnut hair. His clothes were of an expensive cut if slightly worn and of ancient make. 

"What do you want from me?" Trowa asked as he twirled the knife through his fingers with an ease that belied his expertise an unspoken warning hung in the air…'Make the wrong move and I will not miss.' 

A warning that didn't perturb the stranger in the least as he stood at his ease in front of Trowa. 

"You haven't had much luck with the villagers when you asked about the castle have you?" The stranger asked, instead of answering Trowa's question. "I can help you. I know things about it," Prussian eyes trailed to the castle and Trowa swore he could see a sad longing look in them, "that these people can only guess at. I have…studied the curse." 

"Are you a scholar then?" Trowa asked, not lowering his knife, mistrusting the faraway look in the other's eyes. 

The other shivered, and shook himself at his words, seemingly startled by his voice as he stared at the castle. He transferred his gaze to Trowa though his eyes still seemed to stare at a place far removed from the present. "W..What? I am no scholar." 

"Then what are you?" 

The stranger looked away. "Nothing, now. Once I was a prince." 

Ah, a prince. It explained the weariness to Trowa. Those born to rule shouldered the burden of responsibility and lay heavy on the youth. But what had happened to make his family disown him? 

"And you have information on the castle you want to share?" 

"Yes but on one condition." 

"What may that be?" 

"Take me with you." 

TBC ^__~ Comments onegai? 

Well, Heero's here! Let's all wave that 1x4 flag together! ^______^ 


	3. Truth Dawning

Author: Swythangel   
Email: swythangel@hotmail.com   
Title: Apeiron   
Rating: PG (for shounen ai content)   
Spoilers: None on Gundam Wing   
Warnings: Strong Language, Slash, Fantasy AU   
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is owned by Bandai and a passel of other people I never bothered to find out about. It just depresses me to see all those bishies as someone else's property. Stronger than Time is owned by Patricia Wrede. 

Alright, one more part out. Hope you guys like it. Here we find out the tale of the Sleeping Beauty inside the castle. 

**Apeiron**   
**Part 2**

"And what, Your Highness" Trowa asked the Prince, "makes you so sure I will attempt the castle?" 

The Prince stared at him with penetrating eyes that had lost their sadness and was replaced with the sharpness of a bird of prey. 

If Trowa had any doubts that the stranger was a prince, they were laid to rest with the intensity before him as they glinted a steely blue. They were the eyes of one used to command, penetrating and sharp. They were telling Trowa what they thought of Trowa's words - 'You cannot hide the truth from me' they said, 'I know.' 

Trowa shrugged, not showing his intentions as he gazed neutrally at the "Prince" before him, weighing his options. 

Like any born of common blood, he mistrusted Royalty. He had long ago learned that those of blue blood thrived on webs of deception. He had been burned before and he could not, WOULD not be so easily fooled again. 

The Prince could glare all he wanted. Prince he might be but Trowa was a Bard with an indomitable will and no one, not even royalty, could gainsay him. He would not answer if he did not want to. 

As if he sensed Trowa's conviction, azure eyes intensified into a glare. A glare which jade eyes answered with a glare of its own. For long minutes, blue and green locked together in silent battle, neither backing down, until… 

Dusky lashes blinked and the fierce electric blue eyes were covered. 

"Please." 

The word felt like it struggled to come out of the speaker's lips, as if the speaker held on to it so tightly that it felt forced out. That one word was said in a whisper so soft that it would have drowned even in the quiet silence of the night had not Trowa been attentive enough to catch it. 

Both of Trowa's eyebrows flew in surprise. What's this, he thought to himself, a noble willing to plead for what he wanted? It wasn't something one heard everyday. 

There was a part of the jade-eyed Bard that wanted to spurn the aristocrat, a piece of revenge for all the trials his fellow bards had endured in their hands but something, something about the deep-eyed Royal called to Trowa. It was unsettling and yet at the same time so familiar. Trowa did not know what to make of it. 

"Alright." Trowa growled softly under his breath as he relented. "We can talk about the details in my rooms where it is lighted." 

The prince held back. "I'd rather talk here." 

"My rooms or not at all." Trowa said, glaring. "We cannot talk in the streets like a couple of idiots waiting for brigands to pluck them of what they own." 

Trowa could see the prince tense up and twitch a hand in the area near his sword hilt but Trowa stayed adamant. To talk of things not meant for others to hear in such a public place was dangerous, moreso when said place was hostile to their intended topic. He would not budge. 

It must have showed in his eyes because once again the prince only nodded. 

"Follow me, Prince." Trowa muttered as he strode off into the westward side of town where he had rented rooms, not bothering to check if the other followed. 

"It is a title I have long forsaken. Call me by my name. Heero," The soft voice said almost beside him, "My name is Heero, Bard." 

"Heero it is then. And I," Trowa said without blinking, "am called Trowa." 

*** 

In the flickering light of an oil lamp, and under the soft fall of bangs, green eyes peered out unto the figure stationed near the window. Heero was staring out in preoccupied silence at the towering castle as still as a statue. 

Yet for all his stillness, there was an aura of nervousness about him that spoke of impatience. Trowa could sense a 'need' in Heero so great that it was almost palpable in the small room. A need that bore down on shoulders squared in determination and tired hope; a need that put desperate longing into shuttered eyes; a need that was somehow connected to the castle and its sleeping occupant. 

"So," Trowa said, clearing his throat, "tell me your story, Heero." 

The almost emotionless eyes suddenly flares up in heat. "It is *not* my story but the castle's." 

Trowa shrugged, relenting. "The castle's story then." 

Pacified, Heero looked back at the castle as he told his tale. "It is in actuality more the story of the King who lived there than the castle itself. 

It was a long time ago, five centuries or so, give or take a few years. The castle's owners have ever been benevolent and kind to their people. They were also wise and more often than not desired peace above all else. They would have been perfect rulers except for the fact that they had more than their share of stubborness and pride. And none more so than the last. 

Belike, it takes a stubborn man to insult a sorceress, even if he was unaware of it as many say, and then refuse to apologize for the offense. And the Sorceress Dorothy* was not a very forgiving woman." 

Even Trowa, who seldom showed emotion, made a sign against evil at Heero's words. "The King did that? More fool was he. No wonder the castle is cursed!" 

Heero shook his head. "You do not pay attention to your own songs, bard! The castle itself is not cursed." A hand came up to the glass pane, caressing the tower with slow strokes that conveyed sadness to Trowa. Strangely enough, he found himself wanting to do the same thing. "It is what is within that is." 

"What?" Trowa blurted out, confused. Irritation swept through him and he scratched his head to relieve the tension inside of him. _/Trust a nobleman to dither around instead of simply telling a straightforward tale./_ "Go on." 

"You see, the King's meeting with the sorceress occurred at his heir's christening…after so long, the King finally had his heir. A beautiful boy who looked so much like his mother Quatrine." 

Trowa wouldn't have been a creditable bard if he did not notice the slight change in Heero's tone as he talked about the prince, a breathlessness in the voice that had been so neutral before. 

"The infant suffered as much if not more than the father ever did from the sorceress' spell of revenge. Before the assembled guests, Dorothy proclaimed that the prince would be the last of the King's line for he would get no more children and that the prince would die of the pricking of a spindle before he turned sixteen. When the King ordered the guards to seize her, Dorothy just laughed at them and vanished before they could lay a hand on her. 

Remember your song." 

_Doomed by pride too great for one,_   
_A stubborn father who would not bend,_   
_The curse then passed on to the son,_   
_And doomed the line to its end._

********** 

_/You must remember…/_

An image of a blond girl with forked eyebrows laughing evilly superimposed itself before Trowa's eyes and the green orbs widened imperceptibly as he realized who it was. This was the sorceress, Dorothy. 

_/Remember…/_

********* 

He blinked disbelievingly and tried to look again. The image had disappeared and all Trowa saw was Heero still staring out into the growing twilight. 

_/What was that?!/_

It had felt so familiar, like something someone had shown him so many years before, a woman with the kindest voice in creation and blue eyes you could drown in…only Trowa had a photographic memory and he had never known anyone who fit the description. 

_/Get ahold of yourself, Trowa!!/_ He told himself, struggling to concentrate on what Heero was saying. The other was oblivious to Trowa's confusion, too concentrated on telling his story. A fact that Trowa was thankful for as he listened to the rest of the story. 

"The king laughed it off at first, thinking it was no more than the rantings of a self-deluded madwoman. Until he found out that at least half of the curse was true. His wife, Quatrine, would not be able to bear anymore children, the doctor said, or she would die. His son would be the only child he would ever have. 

"For days, he raged like a man gone mad. But it was an exercise of futility and once he realized that, he became wary of the second part of the curse, surrounding the young prince with as much protection as he could. He did it more to protect his line than for any real love for the boy though. 

"One solution would have been to take the boy away to where the sorceress' curse could not reach but stubborness reared its ugly head once again. For more than 10 generations, his father's fathers had lived in the castle, he would not be the one to abandon it nor would he allow his son to be raised anywhere else no matter how much the Queen begged him to do so. He vowed that he would defeat this curse on his own ground. The fool." 

The last phrase was whispered angrily, as Heero glared at nothing before subsiding. 

"Instead, he ordered every spinning wheel and spindle in his kingdom burned, every weaver and spindlers banished. Then he curtailed his son's freedom, ordered him never to go within 5 miles of the castle's walls. He did not care that his son, who loved his people and who was in turned loved back, would severely miss the company of his people. All he cared about was to secure his line's succession." 

****** 

_/Remember…/_

He was sitting on the marble bench facing the formal gardens his father, the King had constructed for his sisters, seemingly lost in thought. Yet in actuality he was talking to the one person who mattered more to him than life itself. His love. 

Today, his love was miserable and it showed in his voice. A soft voice, light but with a tinge of sadness. "You are the only one left, leika, do not leave me as well. I am scared of what might happen…of what father says might happen." 

And in a voice filled with love and promise Trowa answered: "I will never leave you, leika. Do not be afraid. I will always protect you, always. That is a promise." 

****** 

"…that done, he was confident that he had beaten the sorceress' curse. After all, how could his son die of a spindle's prick when there were none?" 

Heero's voice slowly penetrated Trowa's consciousness as the image and memory faded from his mind. 

Memories…ha! They weren't even his memories but someone else's. After all, it was the memories of a noble, a Royal, and Trowa was a commoner. 

Still…something about the memories evoked a familiarity in Trowa that he could not deny. 

Leika…beloved. His beloved. 

_/Gods above and below! I do not have time for this!! I have to listen to Heero./_

With an effort, he roused himself to listen to the Prince's tale. 

"The Queen though was not as complacent as the King. She loved her son very much and in her veins coursed the blood of magick as well. She set out to unravel the curse the sorceress had woven around her son, pitting her talents and all her love against Dorothy's spite." 

"Love against death." Trowa murmured distractedly. 

"What was that?" Heero said, seemingly startled that Trowa interrupted him. 

"It is just something that we bards sing about, Pri--Heero." Trowa said, shrugging. 

"And?" The glare Heero turned Trowa's way was demanding. 

Trowa rolled his eyes before he opened his mouth. A moment after, the golden voice of a boy with the potential to be a Master Bard filled the room. He chose to tell Heero in song rather than in words. 

_"Time and death, intertwined,_   
_Ne'er can be avoided,_   
_Yet be not afraid of what they bring,_   
_Love can cure their savage sting."_

"Aye…" He heard Heero say bitterly as he finished. "But can it help in this situation?" 

The former Prince, it seemed, was talking to himself yet again and Trowa wondered just what burden Heero carried. 

_/It is something best left unasked. I have my own burdens as well no need to complicate my life with another's./_

"Then what happened, Heero?" 

"Queen Quatrine might have magick in her blood but it proved too weak to break the sorceress' curse. Her love for her son however prevented her from giving up and eventually she found a way to alter the curse. True, her son could still fall under the sorceress curse at the prick of a spindle but instead of death, it would cast her son into an endless sleep. The curse would turn outward, protecting the boy for one hundred years by killing anyone who sought to enter the castle. 

"One hundred years to the day of the onset of the spell, a man would come, a Prince or a knight of great nobility who could pass through the barriers without harm. His kiss would break the curse and the Queen's son would wake up as if it had just been a single night instead of a hundred years---" 

"One question: why a man? This prince…is a boy. Why a man and not a princess?" 

For the first time, Heero's lips quirked up in amusement. "You think there is a woman in all of creation who could handle the challenge set upon her without fainting?" 

Trowa laughed. "Point well taken. Although wasn't that a bit cruel of the Queen…" Trowa was thinking of the bones he had seen in the briars. 

"That," Heero said, looking away as if he was uncomfortable, "wasn't exactly the Queen's fault." 

"Then who's?" 

"Let me finish the tale first. T'is near the end as it is and then I will answer your question." 

Trowa shrugged and fell back on the chair he had been lounging in. 

"Somehow, on the prince's sixteenth birthday he found a spindle and pricked his finger on it. That set the curse into motion. That had been nigh 450 years ago and ever since then men have been dying trying to save him." 

"450 YEARS?" Trowa said, bolting upright. "You said the curse was to last a hundred years to the day." 

"That…is correct. However, certain…things happened. The sorceress found out about the Queen's plan and reached into time, to the future and did something to the prince who was to rescue the cursed boy." 

"What did she do?" 

"She…altered something in the Prince, so much that he became impetuous and desperate, he braved the castle a day earlier than what the Queen's magick had foretold. And Quatrine's magick had been too specific." 

"Too specific?" 

"She tied the breaking of the curse down to a precise day and a particular man. A day too early…so he died in the thorns. And so the curse continues up to this day." Heero said sadly. 

Trowa quirked an eyebrow. The prince knew many things about the castle. Too much. Trowa began to be suspicious. 

"How do you know all these?" 

"He was…a member of my family." Heero replied. 

Understanding downed on verdant eyes. "Ah. And you feel you have to put it to right?" 

Cobalt blue eyes met his in a steady gaze. Even in the flickering firelight the naked longing on the other's face was almost so tangible that Heero could almost hold it. "I must. No one else can, and if the curse is not broken, more men will die. And Quat…the prince…the prince will be trapped in the castle forever while the castle crumbles around him. Neither sleeping or waking… 

So…will you let me come with you?" 

"I thought the boy would come into it somewhere." Trowa muttered. There was no mistaken the fervor in Heero's voice when he spoke of the occupant of the cursed castle. And somehow Trowa felt a twinge of something akin to jealousy for such fervor. He had never been felt anything for anyone like what Heero felt. 

His life had been one of apathy. Not even in his bardic studies had he really applied himself. It wasn't that he did not want to he just couldn't make himself do it. There was an emptiness inside him that always remained empty. So much that he could not relate to anyone and thus had been condemned to live outside the sphere of ordinary life. 

All he had were the memories… 

_/Leika…/_

Memories that surface at the oddest times. Memories that were not even his own. In them he had someone to love and hold. Someone who laughed with him and urged him on. 

And in those memories he could *feel*. 

The emptiness was not there and he was filled with emotions. Trowa cherished these memories eventhough he knew they weren't his. At least for a time he could forget the emptiness. 

This was the reason why Trowa sought this legendary Prince with the power to discern one's heart's desire. Trowa wanted to know why he was plagued by such thoughts…haunted by memories not his own. But most of all he wanted to be able to know whose memories they were…to find out who the voice was. And maybe, just maybe, he could also find the love and make it his own. 

There was only one possible answer to Heero's question. What one could not do, two might be able to. "Yes. You can come with me." 

TBC ^_~ You guys likey? 

*I couldn't resist putting in Dorothy! ^o^ EEEvil Dorothy. And don't you think there's a startling similarity to Dorothy poking Quatre with the foil in the real Gwing and here? I mean it's a spindle but what the hey! Hehehe 

Its 1x4 and 3x4 at the same time. Hmnnn…how to resolve it? You'll have to hang on because all will be alright in the end. Any inkling on what will happen? This already has an ending, all I really need to do is write it down. ^__^v 


End file.
